


Sharpened to a Point

by bananabog



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angry Sex, M/M, Mild BDSM, dom!Fidds, mentions of pegging, sub!Stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananabog/pseuds/bananabog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You…” Fiddleford is speechless. “You actually want me, to…” He can’t bring himself to say it, “…to you?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Yeah?” Stan sounds annoyed. He looks annoyed. “What about it?”</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“I mean, w-well, I’m not exactly Manly Mannington, so I just assumed – ”</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“ – yeah, well, you assumed wrong,” Stan growls. He thrusts up against the other again and Fiddleford’s breath hitches sharply. “Are ya gonna fuck me or not?”  </i></p><p> </p><p>100- and 300-word drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharpened to a Point

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt on tumblr: "Fiddlestan with dom!Fidds and sub!Stanley"
> 
> Mentions of past ambiguous hetero relationships for both Stan and Fidds, elements of bdsm. There’s a brief bit of angry sex, but they make it up in the end. (It’s slightly AU-ish since I wasn’t sure how to fit it into the GF timeline, so I apologize for skewing the prompt in this manner, but… modern domestic AU setting, I guess.)

“You…” Fiddleford is speechless. “You actually want _me_ , to…” He can’t bring himself to say it, “…to _you_?”

“Yeah?” Stan sounds annoyed. He _looks_ annoyed. “What about it?”

“I mean, w-well, I’m not exactly _Manly Mannington_ , so I just assumed – ”

“ – yeah, well, you assumed wrong,” Stan growls. He thrusts up against the other again and Fiddleford’s breath hitches sharply. “Are ya gonna fuck me or not?”  

“This is actually my first time,” he blurts. His face grows red. “With – with another man, I mean. I’ve only ever dated ladies, and – ”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Wait, _what_ ,” he says.

x x x

Apparently  Stan really… _really_ likes being on the receiving end of penetration.

He’s been pegged by women. He still likes cleavage, and other parts of the female anatomy as much as he does their male counterparts. It doesn’t change the fact that Stan likes “taking it up the ass” and “sucking cock” far more than he does the other activities.

“Must you be so _crude_ ,” Fiddleford chides him, his face aflame as they lie beside each other, still fully clothed, the dampness at the front of their jeans starting to harden.  

“It’s sex.” Stan shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothin’ dirty about it.”

x x x

Their first time together is… underwhelming.

Stan assures Fiddleford that what he’s doing is completely fine, that it feels good – but Fiddleford knows. He just _knows_ somehow; he can feel that _something’s_ not quite there yet.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong or what he can do about it until one frustrating night when Stan simply _isn’t_ able to come despite the duration of their gentle love-making and he blurts, “ _Fuck me._ ”    

“I – I am,” Fiddleford states, weakly, but Stan just thrusts back down against him and groans, aggravated and insistent, “ _No_ , goddammit! I mean FUCK me! _Give me all you’ve got!_ ”

Fiddleford’s movements actually stutter to a halt at this, going wide-eyed at the outburst, so Stan just keeps mocking him, his voice rising in volume as he shouts, as he _demands_ , “You _call_ that fucking? Are you even _in_ me? I can barely feel that pansy-ass _pencil_ you call a dick! You call yourself a man?! No _wonder_ your wife dumped you!”

Fiddleford goes very, very still.

Stan doesn’t notice, too caught up, “No one wants to be with someone who can’t eve _AHH!”_

He’s cut off as the other drives into him so hard that he feels the bed _shift_ back and bump against the wall. He barely has time to breathe before Fiddleford pulls out, nearly all the way, and then slams himself back in, sinking fully right up to the hilt.

He keeps going – relentlessly plowing in and out of Stan with a fevered, furious calm – and all of it in the deadliest of silences.

Stan is too far gone. He shouts down the walls as he comes harder than he’s ever come before in his life.  

It’s only when he hears the click of the door that he realizes that Fiddleford has walked out.

x x x

He scrambles after the lankier man, tripping over the sheets. He’s still naked. He doesn’t care.

“Fiddleford!” he calls, as the other begins yanking on his shirt and jacket, “Fiddles, I didn’t – I’m _sorry_! I went overboard! I shouldn’t have – ”

“ _Never_ ,” Fiddleford says, without turning around, and Stan freezes at the coldness of it, at the complete lack of _feeling_ in the other man’s usually heartfelt voice, _“talk to me about my ex-wife that way again.”_

Fiddleford finishes dressing. He grabs his keys off the counter and turns the doorknob.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door slams behind him.

x x x

Work the next day is awkward.

Fiddleford shows up at the bar at his usual time, after office hours. A steely glance in his direction is the only acknowledgement Stan receives from the other.

Fiddleford chats casually with the cute new waitress that’s taking his order. He laughs and nods as she flounces away to get his drink, before pulling out a stack of papers to go through. Not once does he look at Stan again.

It’s the longest, most unsettling work hour of Stan’s life. He’s all nerves by the time he knocks off his shift.

“H-hey,” Stan says.

x x x 

Fiddleford motions for him to sit. Stan does so with apprehension.

He can’t help but start running his mouth to end the awful silence, “I’m really sorry about last night. It was a stupid, thoughtless thing to say and I didn’t – ”

“Would you _relax_ ,” Fiddleford growls, rolling his eyes (Stan stiffens even more), “I’m not here to give you a hard time.”

“You’re not – _no_?” Stan squeaks.

“There was a miscommunication between us.” Fiddleford folds his hands on the table. “And I am of the firm belief that the basis of any good relationship relies on open, honest communication.”

x x x

“You like rough penetration,” Fiddleford declares.

Stan erupts into a loud coughing fit that causes several annoyed heads to briefly turn in their direction.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he hisses, “just state that for the record, why don’cha?!”

“Well, why didn’t you just gosh dang _say so_ , you idiot?!” Fiddleford snaps. He pinches the bridge of his nose, reeling himself in a little, before continuing a little more calmly, “You willingly admit to getting pe… to playing a more _receptive_ role during the course of your heterosexual relationships, but you can’t muster up enough _testosterone_ to tell me what you _wanted_ without having to resort to petty _insults_?!”

“You don’t gotta use so many big words, you showoff.” Stan crosses his arms, scowling a little. His cheeks are flushed as he mumbles, “Was afraid you wouldn’t… That you wouldn’t do it. You’re just so freakin’ _nice_ , you know…? You’re always so gentle and careful and… I didn’t wanna ask you t’hurt me if you weren’t  inta that stuff. Didn’t think you’d want to do it even if I told ya all I just really wanted you to _do_ t’me was…”

He vulgarly smacks a fist into his palm a few times for emphasis and Fiddleford rubs his temples, hastily waving for him to desist.  

“Whatever happened to ‘there’s nothing dirty about having natural urges’…?” Fiddleford mutters.

Stan shrugs a shoulder, embarrassed. “…Guess I got stupid a little.”

After a while, Stan reaches over the table and tentatively puts a hand over the other’s clasped ones.

“I’m _really_ sorry,” he mumbles. “I _mean_ it. I won’t be an asshole about it ever again. And I know you haven’t talked about _her_ , much, but if… if ya wanna… I can listen.”

“…maybe some other time,” Fiddleford allows.

They’re both smiling when they part hands.

x x x

He talks to Fiddleford now. He lets the other know exactly how he wants it: how fast, how hard, if it isn’t; if he wants more. And they don’t get it right on the first try? That’s fine. 

They’ve got many other chances to work on perfecting it.

Their safeword is “pencil”. Fiddleford doesn’t understand this until Stan waggles his eyebrows at his crotch.  

“That’s it.” Fiddleford pulls away even as Stan latches on to him, laughing, “I don’t love you anymore, get out.”

“Or…” Stan murmurs, grinning, “you _could_ put me in my place…”  

Their bed breaks that night. 


End file.
